


Too Long

by justreadingfics



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, POV Steve Rogers, Pregnant Sex, Steve is kind of a jerk, Swearing, Tears, smut in future chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-05 19:57:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17331359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justreadingfics/pseuds/justreadingfics
Summary: Steve acknowledges his true feelings for you. Is it too late?





	1. Chapter 1

The strong liquor burns its way down his throat.

Bless Thor and his outer space delicacies; the only way Steve could try and bring some sort of numbness to his mind once in a while. All he wants in the moment is to detach his thoughts from the painful sight he has just witnessed.

As he stares down the amber liquor, the sounds of cheerfulness coming from the lounge are muffled by the kitchen’s door. He wishes the offending noises could vanish and leave him fucking alone.

He sighs, propping his elbows on the table, and takes another sip. You looked so happy. A genuine grin curled your beautiful lips up just a few minutes ago, before he snuck his way out of the room to where he stands now, drinking his brains out, trying to forget all about the scene, failing so marvelously on the particular mission. He never thought there would come the day when a smile of yours would cause him so much pain.

Yes. You said yes. A man who wasn’t him on his knees, asking you the question he should be asking, hearing the beautiful word slipping so easily out of your lips for him. Yes. Such a simple word, turning his whole universe upside down. He has lost you for good.

He pours another glass of the exceptional liquor, the fancy decanter banging against the table as he roughly places it back there. Is this the third, fourth glass? Who cares? He won´t stop. Not when you’re still on his mind.

Flashes of you twirled inside his growing dizzy mind. Your wet bare skin against his, the sound of your breathless laugh as he tickled you between his sheets, the warmth of your hand holding his during Peggy’s funeral, the softness of your arms around him when he discovered Bucky was alive, the smile on your lips and the misery in your eyes when he rejected your love confession… 

He had his shot. He did. Years ago. You had what you called a “friends with benefits” deal. A sad smirk twists his lips at the memory of you explaining how the relationship would work, all the ground rules you’d set, just so you would break all of them, one by one. You did cuddle, you did spend the night, you did get jealous, you did develop feelings… He remembers how you wrapped your hands around yourself to hide the trembling in them, even when your firm voice expressed nothing but resolve in your confession. He remembers how tight he felt his chest immediately after telling you he didn’t feel the same way and you should be just friends. No benefits. Nothing else. You smiled at him, and kissed him on the cheek, before forcing a steady pace to leave his bedroom. And just friends you were ever since. At least this is what he’s been telling himself.

He sees it all clearly now. There was always some sort of excuse for him to push aside the way he really felt for you. His job, the guilt of developing feelings for you while Peggy was still alive, Bucky showing up and becoming his number one priority, the Accords and the Avengers falling out…

The fact is, as stupid as it sounds to him now, he wasn’t ready to love you. He wasn’t ready to be loved by you. He knew you would give yourself solely to him and he wasn’t sure he was able to provide you the same surrender. Stupid jerk.

He doesn’t lift his head from his almost empty glass when the joyful voices and the music from the lounge become louder for a second, before getting muffled again.

“Steve?” His heart races. There has always been something in the way you say his name which instigates a fuzz inside his chest. He gulps the rest of his drink, his eyes shut and he hisses at the bittersweet taste.

“Hey,” your sweet voice sounds closer and he looks up to see you had walked to him, standing right in front of where he sat, a crease between your eyebrows as you eyed the decanter on the table. All he wants right now is to run his finger against the adorable line and feel the beautiful traces of your face, “What are you doing here alone?” You look back at him, shaking your head and making a confused grimace.

“Nice ring,” Steve mumbles, ignoring your question, his eyes resting on the new jewel adorning your finger.

“Oh…yeah, it’s something, right? You know Tom, he likes this kind of fancy stuff…” A dismissive soft laugh comes out of your lips.

Focusing on the sparkle in your eyes and the tender way you speak about your now fiancé, Steve misses how you’ve unconsciously covered the shiny rock with your other hand. 

“Come on,” you say, a little unnerved under his quiet and unreadable stare. You always knew how to read Steve, even if the outcome wasn’t always pleasing to you, but tonight it feels like he is slipping through your fingers, “I came to pick up the cake, it’s white chocolate and strawberries, I know you love it.”

His gaze follows you as you turn to the fridge, opening the door. Of course you know his favorite cake’s flavor. You know just about everything there´s to know about him.

“I bet Wanda is gonna love it, too.” You talk from behind the opened fridge’s door. Your voice is back to being laced with an uncontainable joy and he hates how miserable it makes him feel, because he knows the reason of your good mood.

“Oh, wow, so you do remember what’s the real celebration here tonight,” he scoffs audibly, his bitter tone matching the way he feels inside as he harshly put the glass back on the table.

Even if he doesn’t see you entirely, he knows you froze at his words. He ignores the pang in his chest as you slowly close the door and look at him, no cake in your hands. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Your lips are tight in a thin line as you stare impassively at him.

He already regrets this whole interaction. He does. But there are few times Steve Rogers loses control of himself and this is definitely one of those times. The tourbillion of feelings in chest, not all of them honorable, and the little, yet effective, influence of the liquor seem to be in control of his actions and words tonight.

“You know exactly what it means.” He gets up, moving to pass by you, only to be stopped by you stepping in front of him. He raises his chin up, folding his arms in front of his chest.

“Actually, I don’t. Please enlighten me.” You mirror his defiance posture, but your tone remains disconcertingly calm, even with you expression and your whole stiffened posture exposing the increasing tension on your body.

His jaw clenches before he continues “Do you know how long has it been since Wanda last celebrated her birthday? And the first time she feels at ease and excited about it, you and your boy toy had to go and steal all the attention with that little stunt.” He waves his hand on the direction of the door.

You blink, unfolding your arms, and averting your gaze down, seeming lost for a second before raising livid eyes at him, “What the hell, Steve? You know damn well this wasn’t the intention, Tom just-”

“Wanted to be the center of attention, like he always does. Now, if you excuse me-” You stop him from leaving once again, holding a grip on his elbow. The touch of your hands is a flame burning on his skin. He misses you so damn much.

“I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you,” You say through your teeth, so close from his face he can feel your hot breath covering his cheeks. His heart pounds against his chest as, despite the evident hurt and anger on your voice, your eyes convey the care and gentleness they always held for him. “But this isn’t you and whatever it is going on, it doesn’t excuse you from being a jackass, so, you wanna tell me what it is now, or tomorrow, when you feel like shit?” 

He sighs, shaking his head. He really doesn’t want to fight with you. The anger consuming him isn’t directed at you, but at himself, “It’s just… I-I,” he stutters, trying to choose words that wouldn’t ruin everything, but finding none. What could he tell you now without lying? Without changing everything between you two? He couldn’t bear the idea of the likely consequences of telling you the truth, your rejection, tainting such an important night for you or worse, making you suffer, more than he knows he already did. “I’m sorry,” is all he can mumble, avoiding your unyielding gaze. 

“Not happening,” the grip on his elbow gets firmer, “Fucking tell me right now, Rogers, what the hell is happening? Why are you here drinking by yourself and being such an asshole?” 

“God, you’re so infuriating,” he snaps out of your grasp, not noticing the way you flinch, but keeps glaring defiantly at him as you let your arms fall to the side.

He runs a hand over his face to his hair, before continuing, exasperation all over his hand’s gestures, “You’re always meddling with other people’s business. With my business. You’re so full of yourself, like you know everything, like you can help everyone. Guess what? You fucking can’t!” Unable to look at your pained expression he turns his back to you and drops his body on the closes chair, burying his hands in his hair as he props his elbows on his legs.

“Steve…” you whisper, tentatively placing your hand on his back. The gentle touch, despite his previous harshness, and the sound of his name on your broken voice are overwhelming, like his love for you would combust from inside out and it’s impossible to hold it back any longer.

He can’t help the tears welling up in his eyes as he gets up and grab your hand in both of his. Your eyes widen at the desperation twisting his face.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” His tone is still tie up with austerity, but there’s also a mix of emotions you wouldn’t dare to acknowledge as his eyes are frantically scanning every corner of your face. “Huh?” He makes you gasp as he drags you closer and pulls your hand to his chest, his heart hammering against it.

Looking down to where he holds your hand, you jerk your arm, trying to pull out from his grip, to no avail, “Steve, what-“

“I love you.”

All your movements stall and your gaze meets his.

“I love you,” he repeats, “I love you so damn much. You walk in the room and steal all the air from my lungs, you make me breathless, you touch me and I feel myself burn, you make thirsty,” his words mingle with his panting and he licks his lips, “and then you smile…” he allows one for himself for a brief moment before continuing, “and it makes me calm and hopeful, happy, worthy.” His hand is squeezing yours desperately as you keep looking at him, an unreadable expression on your face, “You make me selfish, you make me greedy- Y/N, baby,” His other hand cups your cheek, “I’m so damn greedy for you. You’re everything I want and I want everything with you. I love you.” 

He feels like he’s heart is about to explode, but at the same time is like the world has left his shoulders after a long time of lodged there. He loves you and he won’t deny it anymore, not to you, not to him, or to anyone. 

“Please say something,” he murmurs, after what feels like an eternity. You hadn’t said anything, you hadn’t even moved after he started talking. You just stood there, staring at him. Until your lips start trembling. 

“Yes, you are,” you finally whisper.

“What?” Steve asks, stroking your cheek with his thumb as his forehead creases.

“Selfish,” you say through clenched jaw, swatting his hand away from your face and pushing him on his shoulder, “You’re so fucking selfish, Steve Rogers. Who gave you the goddamn right?” You push him again with all your strength and he lets himself stumble backwards, releasing your hand he was holding against his chest.

He knows you don’t have it in you to care about the hurt surely crossing his face, not this time. You had never looked at him the way you look now, with such anger, frustration, disappointment. And he never felt more lost in his life.

“Sweetheart, please…” he steps forward.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you extend a hand, stopping him midway, the furry in your eyes burning against his, “I’m not your sweetheart, never have been. You were always pretty clear about it.” The statement and the laugh which follows, devoid of any kind of amusement, makes him visibly wince. 

You shake your head and continue, “I can’t believe you, Steve. Tonight, after all the nights you and I have spent together, after the nights I’ve spent awake watching you sleep, comforting you when the tiniest flinch told me you were having a nightmare, after the night I told you I loved you and you said you didn’t want me,” your voice cracks and Steve fights the urge of holding in his arms and never let go. “Tonight is the night you decide everything and everyone don’t come first and you fucking love me and feel like you have the right to tell me so?”

Steve takes a shuddering breath, hating to acknowledge that, despite the more evident anger, you are truly in pain, and it is because of him. His unfairness, his stupidity, his cowardice…

“Y/N, please…” He steps closer.

You step back.

“No.” you point an accusing finger at him, “When the man who loves me enough to ask me to spend the rest of our lives with him in front of everybody and is right on the next room, is the night you find out you love me?”

Not standing the hurt and deception in your eyes, Steve looks away, taking a deep sigh. “I know I hurt you and I’ll never forgive myself for that, but I do love you, Y/N, I just can’t hold it back anymore-”

You sneer loudly and now you’re the one who steps closer to him, which makes him stop talking and look down at you. “If you really loved me,” you say, tilting your head, “You wouldn’t taint the memory of this night for me, which is exactly what you’re doing. No, you don’t love me, you’re just scared you’re losing your little pet for good. What do you expect me to say? To do? Huh?” 

“Don’t marry him.” Steve bursts out when an unexpected confidence swells in his guts.

“What?” Disbelief etches in your voice and widened eyes.

“Please don’t marry him.” The words were snagging the back of his throat ever since you said yes to another man, and now he can’t refrain from voicing them anymore. His hands fly to each side of your face and his confidence grows bigger when you don’t push him away, staring back at him. “Please don’t marry him, I love you.” He pours all the feelings consuming him inside on the plead. 

“I hate you,” you breathe out. Deep anger sweeps into your voice and his chest heaves when he takes a deep sigh in, “I hate you,” you hit him in the chest with the side of your balled fists.

He doesn’t budge and takes one more step closer, relishing on the comforting scent of your perfume reaching his nostrils, “Don’t do marry him, baby, I love you,”

“I hate you, fuck you. I hate you, Steve Rogers,” you desperately repeat as tears start to run down freely over your cheeks. It seems to make you even angrier and you start hitting him again and again.

You fight against his hold when he grabs both your hands in his. He brings your palms to his lips, laying lingering kisses on each of them before placing them over his cheeks. “I love you, so much, Y/N.” 

“Stop saying that. Stop.” You sob, not pulling back when he leans against your touch. You don’t notice when you take a step closer and you can’t say you’re sure how it happens, but his forehead is resting against yours and his hands are gently cupping your neck. “I hate you.” A barely whisper slips out of your breathless lungs and your fingers cling on his beard. 

A faint smile crosses Steve’s lips, “I know, my love. It’s ok. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere... I’ll always be here.” It doesn’t go unnoticed by him how the stiffness in your every muscle seems to ease down a little and you don’t fight his touch any longer. Your eyes are close and you just breathe peacefully.

“Steve…” you whimper and your parted lips are so close to his, all he has to do is to move one inch closer and he would feel you again. Your taste, your sweetness, your love.

Just one inch closer.

“Hey, Y/N, where the hell is the-?” Bucky’s voice breaks the spell and with one swift move you’re out of Steve’s hold and running to throw yourself on Bucky.

He lets the door close behind him to hold you back promptly. He sees a just as distressed Steve from over your shoulder, whose eyes are glued on your back, ignoring the quizzical stare from Bucky.

“Hey…what’s wrong, doll?” Bucky asks at the same time Steve calls for your name and walks on your direction, stopping on his toes at a headshake from his best friend, who eyes him suspiciously, now.

You unwrap your arms from Bucky, but he keeps a protective hand behind your back as you swipe the tears from your face,“I-I’m sorry, Buck, but I don’t feel so good. I guess I’m gonna call Tom and head home now, would you please take the cake to Wanda and say I’m sorry and I wish her all the happiness in the world?” You talk in a rush and force a smile to which Bucky nods, understanding what you need in this moment is to get out of there as soon as possible.

“Y/N, please…” Steve ignores Bucky’s warning expression and walks to you.

“Steve,” you turn to face him, raising a stopping hand to keep him from coming any closer. You take a deep breath and lace your voice with determination “You made your choice…And I made mine…just because you can’t live with yours doesn’t mean you get to change mine.”

The words, deprived of any traces of uncertainty, weigh on his chest and his heart falls along with his whole world. There’s a knife cutting through his ribcage, but he doesn’t try to stop you when you leave the kitchen. When you leave him.

He lost this battle. He lost you. But the the worst is he hurt you. The least he can do do is to entitle you the right of making your own choice. He owes you this much. Even if your choice isn’t him. His broken heart is on him, no one else is to blame. 

“What’ve you done, punk?” Bucky asks, not with anger, not with suspicion, but with regret and concern for his best friend, who seems hypnotized by the closed door before him. 

Steve knows his expression must carry the deep sadness he’s feeling when Bucky places a kind hand over his shoulder as Steve turns to him. He takes a long quivering breath before gathering all the strength he could to voice the shattering, but simple truth:

“I’ve waited too long, pal.”


	2. Chapter 2

The touch is faint. He can barely feel the tickle from the brush of your digit tracing the lines of his face, but he knows it’s there, warming up his heart and calming down his mind. He doesn’t want to open his eyes just yet; he knows it will make you feel self-conscious and consequently, it will make you stop. He doesn’t want you to stop.

But damn his betraying lips, reflexively curling up in a small smile at the delightful touch.

“Sorry,” you hiss and retract your finger, to his very dismay.

Steve groans, opening his eyes slowly to see you resting face to face with him. The sunlight peeking through the curtains is illuminating your shape, spotlighting every corner of your beautiful features.

“Good morning, doll,” he says with a husky sleepy voice. 

“Argh, Steve,” you grumble, covering your eyes with your hand, “no pet names, this is rule number four.” You gesture to the air while he holds back a laugh by worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

“Well, I think I’ve earned the right to break one, since apparently you’ve just broken rule number one.” He waves his hand between you two to prove his point.

“I know, no sleepovers.” You admit, casting your eyes down, “But you’re the one to blame.” You poke him on the chest and he grabs your finger, shaking it playfully while you ignore his quirked brow. “Yeah, yeah…Try having mind blowing sex with a Super Soldier to see if you’ll have the energy to change beds afterwards.”

He gasps in mocked outrage and you squeak in surprise when he pushes your hand, rolling you on your back and positioning himself on top of you. Straddling your waist, he mercilessly starts tickling you.

You squirm, scream and laugh beneath him, messing up his sheets while you try to fight back his attack to no avail. “Stop, stop, please,” you breathlessly beg between giggles and he finally submits to your pleas.

He has you pinned down on his mattress, securing your wrists above your head. While the air seems scarce with both of you panting, he finds himself diving into your gazing eyes and the atmosphere changes completely.

“Mind blowing, huh,” Steve coos, rolling his hips against yours, making you moan. He leans down to kiss you, but stops when you speak, never tearing your eyes from his.

“Steve, I’m scared.” Your voice is small and it makes his heart weak. 

“Why?” He frowns, letting go of your wrists to cup your cheeks. 

You imitate him, caressing his clean shaved jaw, “You know why.” 

An icy wave of fear washes over his stomach. He does know why. “No, please…” He recognizes the desperation in his voice. He’s been there before.

“This isn’t real.” You slide your thumb over his cheek as he takes in a shuddering breath. “You’ve waited too long, haven’t you? This is just a memory.”

He shakes his head and wipes away a tear from the corner of your eyes, not avoiding his own to fall down.

“You and I are just a dream, a distant memory. It’ll fade away. I’m fading away, Steve.”

“No, please don’t go, I’m sorr-” He chokes on his own words as a light fog starts to cover your saddened features, the blissful happiness from moments ago gone while you slowly evaporate from his sight.

“NO.” Steve sits bolt upright while the desperate scream resonates around wherever he is. Gripping on the sheets, he scans his surroundings, recognizing his room. As he closes his eyes again, he tries to regulate his breathing to a steady pace.

Another one. He doesn’t even know if he can call them nightmares, these dreams he’s been having night after night. After all, it’s only then he has the chance to see you again, feel you, and have you on his arms. The mind is a tricky thing. He swears he can taste you while he runs his tongue over his drying lips. And his face still feels ticklish from your touch. His heart feels full, complete; like it used to be at the time he has been dreaming of. When he could have you, hold you, kiss you, see you…

He hasn’t seen you since the day you officially promised forever to another man. He watched you from afar at the ceremony. There was an overwhelming sadness clouding his feelings, but he smiled, seeing how beautiful and happy you looked. Your smile only faltered for a split second when you scanned the standing guests right after you said “I do”. He likes to think you were searching for him. But he had promised himself he would let you live your own choice and he didn’t want to taint another important moment for you, so he kept himself in the shadows.

It’s been eight months and not a day he didn’t spend thinking of you or a night dreaming of you. He can only hope you’re happy. Scratch that. He knows you’re happy. Bucky has a subtle and caring way to keep him updated. Only his brother in life could be aware he would rather know about you, even if the news would punch him in the guts than not knowing at all; he can’t handle losing his track on you; he needs this to breathe.

He knew when you changed jobs to one you really loved. You always wanted to drop your life as an agent to deal with flowers. Human beings weren’t as pretty, you used to say. He knew when you opened your flower shop and he knew when you and your husband moved to a house at the suburb. He can only imagine you living in a big house; you always loved your tiny apartment, because it was easier to clean…

He knew you never mentioned his name again… and the last news he’s got was one of those to put a knife to his chest. You were trying for a baby. 

Steve harshly runs his hand over his face to shake these memories and thoughts off before reaching for his cellphone on the nightstand. 6.05am. At this time he would be up for his customary morning run, but the loud thunder outside signaling the storm sets his mind on getting up to steel himself for yet another mission, instead. They’ve become his only focus, his Captain America persona taking over Steve Rogers easily with you away.

Taking in a bracing sigh, he jumps out of his bed and starts another day without you.

A little less than an hour later he’s already buckling up his suit when the doorbell to his apartment rings. Since FRIDAY didn’t warn him of any visitors, he assumes it’s Bucky who, for the first time ever, would be ready earlier than him for a mission. 

“Wait up,” he shouts, searching for his boots and helmet, but the doorbell keeps ringing insistently. “Impatient prick,” he huffs, strutting to the door. “Hey, jerk-” He stops on his toes and his eyes widen at your sight.

He barely registers the surprise and the mix of overwhelming feelings to be finally seeing you again before they’re hijacked by concern and fear when he takes in your state. You’re soaked from head to toe, covered in a coat just as drenched, your red rimmed eyes can’t suppress the tears slipping down and your lips tremble along with your whole body, while you wrap your arms around yourself.

Pure instinct controls his actions as he gently pulls you inside by an arm around your shoulders, closing the door behind you. Once inside, he can’t help but envelope you between his arms, hoping his body heat would dissipate the cold for that moment. To his surprise, you don’t fight his hold, burying your face on his chest, having your arms stiffed down, sobbing against his uniform.

“Are you hurt?” He leans back to watch your face and examine your body, a mix of apprehension, softness, and anger for whatever left you in this state pinching his voice.

Swallowing a sob, you shake your head quickly, looking up at him, “I-I…” you stutter with shuddering lips, your eyes dancing unfocusedly.

“Shhh, it’s ok sweetheart, let’s get you cleaned and warm first, we can talk later,” Steve soothes you, running his hands up and down your back before leading them to the tie of the belt keeping your coat closed, “Can I?” he hesitantly asks.

You respond with a slight nod, your eyes finding focus on his blue ones. They remain absorbed in him while he hooks his fingers beneath the collar of your coat and pulls it off of you, letting the heavy drenched fabric form a pool on the floor behind you.

He frowns when he sees you only in a shorts and tank pajama set. He looks down to your feet, noticing it covered only by flip flops. Your gaze never ceases to follow him when he gently guides you to his room, then to his bathroom. He grabs a clean towel from one of the cabinets to envelope you in it, rubbing your sides to help him on his urgent mission to warm you up.

He walks to the bathtub and quickly turns on the taps. He has no idea why you are there, but if it was comfort and love you were in need of, there’s no other place for you to be. As the water fills the bathtub up he walks back to you, who hasn’t moved an inch from the spot he left you. Your stare, however, kept chasing his every move. He longs to read what’s on your mind through your unyielding eyes, but it can wait.

You’re still shaking, looking up at his standing figure in front of you. Surprisingly enough, his nerves don’t get to him when he speaks again. “A hot bath will do you good.” You nod silently at him, “I’ll wait outside.”

He tightens his lips and moves to leave, but you grab on his arm, stopping him to step any farther from you. “Please,” You finally say, “Stay with me?” The lack of confidence of the request permeates your words.

He gulps, trying to control his own overwhelming emotions at your plea and your small, almost inaudible voice. There’s nothing he wants more than not to leave your side, ever again, “Of course,” he answers.

Your chest heaves, like you are filling it up with much needed air, but you seem lost to what to do next, arms falling limply to your sides, a silent beg lingers in your gaze. A beg for him to assume the control and take care of you.

He doesn’t even flinch before complying, taking your hand and guiding you to the side of the bathtub. After turning off the water, satisfied with the amount, he positions himself behind your back and, carefully, yet confidently, he tugs at the hem of your pajama tank. When you raise your arms, he slowly pulls the dripping fabric up. Tossing it to the side, he can’t help to take in a long sigh when he sees your bare back. You still sleep without a bra, and it would be goddamn distracting if he wasn’t so worried and in a hurry to warm you up and make you feel at least a bit better.

Tiny rising hairs tickle his fingers when they smoothly glide down your body before he hooks said fingers beneath the waistband of your shorts, pulling them down for you to step out of them, along of your flip flops. Your whole body shakes in a light tremble and he’s not sure it’s just due the cold anymore, but he takes your hand urging you to get into the warm water, seeing no reason why you shouldn’t keep the last piece of your underwear.

~~~ 

In a silent, perfectly synchronized dance, you let him guide your numb self as you step into the bathtub, relishing at the relaxing feeling you get from the warm water coating your body. He positions himself kneeling behind the large bathtub and you can’t help but close your eyes and dive into the comfort of his gentle, yet firm hands applying his shampoo over your hair. The act is familiar as it has been done a thousand times in the past, but in much different situations, the sensual connotation from before far distant from what it means now, an act of pure affection and devotion. 

The smell is intoxicating, full of memories which take over your mind and gradually banishes the anguish in your aching heart from just a few moments ago as he unhurriedly massages your scalp. As his hands are still gentle when they bring the comfortably hot water to rinse out the shampoo, careful to not spill anything in your eyes, the reason why your feet have unconsciously dragged you to him after the eventful morning becomes clear. There is no other place you should be. The sense of belonging would be overwhelming if it didn’t feel so right and weren’t so damn craved.

You’re not sure how much time has passed or how it exactly happens, but next thing you know he’s tucking you under his blankets, and you wearing your favorite t-shirt of his. You almost let a smile bloom against your face at the assumption he has kept it after so long for this very reason.

The stupid little thought is interrupted when he finally breaks the silence, “I’ll let you rest a little.”

No.

For the second time that morning, you stop him from leaving you by your hand on his arm, “Will you lie down with me?” You don’t give a damn of how pathetic it might sound.

He stares at you for a silent moment before he blinks and nods, “Of course, anything you want, sweetheart.”

Your heart jumps at the pet name you had rejected that night months ago, while he does what you say and climbs on the bed, resting his back on the headboard, keeping himself above the blankets. You understand the respectful distance he’s been trying to keep, after all, you’re the one who has demanded such behavior from him. But this isn’t what you want that morning. All you want is to place your head over his lap instead of using the fluffy pillow he’s given you, and no restrains hold you back from doing so, wrapping your arm around his waist, resting your cheek on his thigh. The tenseness in his body is short-lived, before his hand dips into your damp hair, stroking your locks in a lulling rhythm. The caring touch and the comfort of his presence, added to the relaxing bath you’ve just had are enough to make you doze off in seconds.

You’re the first one to wake up, finding both of you in a completely changed position. Instead of the headboard like before, his head is resting on his pillow, facing you, as his arm lies around your waist, holding you close to him as he sleeps beside you.

The urge is overpowering and your finger has a mind of its own as it reaches out and lightly traces the beautiful lines of his face, like you’ve secretly done a million times before. Or at least you thought it was secretly, for like those other million times before, the slight curl on his lips gives away his awakened state.

“Sorry,” you blurt out, feeling the heat rushing up your cheeks as you retract your fingers.

“Am I dreaming?” The light smile still decorates Steve’s lips as he opens his eyes.

“What?” Your brows furrow as you chuckle at his question.

“Are you ok?” He answers with a question of his own, his expression becoming serious.

When you just shrug as a response, he leads the arm which has been resting around your waist to your face, using his fingers to brush a strand of hair partly covering your eyes behind your ear, the small gesture evoking a swirl of feelings from the depths of you. Feelings you thought forgotten. Too soon his touch leaves your face and he lays his hand right next to your own on the bit of mattress separating you from each other. “Where’s Tom?” He clears his throat and your gaze instantly falls away from his.

At your lack of response, he insists, his tone restrained, even if the sheets bunches up under his grip. “Did he hurt you?”

You’re quick in shaking your head no and you’re about to respond when something catches your attention as your eyes lay on him again.

“Do you have a mission to go to?” You raise your frowned stare from his uniform to his eyes, already moving to get up from his bed.

“Hey,” he holds your hand, “Don’t worry about it. I’ve texted Bucky, he’s got it covered. I’m staying here with you.”

Your eyes widen at the information. You don’t remember one single mission Steve had skipped in the time you worked with him. Speaking of that, you can’t ignore the thudding heart in your chest also skipping a beat and forcing you to take a deep breath in. Letting your hand being enveloped by his between you two, you gather the strength to speak and give him an explanation. “Tom and I, we’ve been trying for a baby,” you look up at him and he nods with a small smile, letting you know this aren’t any news for him.

“Um, and I took a test this morning,” you mutter, focusing your attention on your linked hands instead of his eyes, or else you wouldn’t be able to continue, “It was negative… again.”

He squeezes your hand and slides himself closer to you, giving a kiss to the back of your fingers. “It’s ok, sweetheart. I’m sure it will happen-”

“Tom wasn’t happy about the result,” you interrupt him “He got angry and said it was my fault it wasn’t happening, because I didn’t really want the baby and my body only responded to it.” You look up at Steve to see his face reddening.

“What? Son of a…” He closes his eyes and takes one or two calming breaths before looking at you again. You feel yourself melting by the kindness in his eyes, “This isn’t your fault, sweetheart, I’ll-”

“He’s not wrong, Steve.” You cut him, once again, and he frowns questioningly at you, “I mean, I know it isn’t my fault, of course it isn’t,” you scoff, shaking your head. You bite your lip, like the action would be able to contain your nervousness to continue and clarify why you ended up in his apartment, “But I… I felt relieved.” You finally say it, “Just like all the other times I took the test and it was negative, I was thankful. And when he asked for a divorce this morning, I felt relieved, too.”

Your breathing is unsteady and you’re speaking fast. You’re sure your stomach will combust at any moment, but you have to let it out. And as Steve looks dumbfounded, apparently noticing for the first time the lack of a ring on your left hand entangled in his, you resume the ramble slipping out your lips, “I felt relieved, because I do want a baby…at least I think I do… and I do wanna spend my life with someone, but not with him…not with him.” You shake your head, not helping the tears sliding over your face. 

“Y/N…” he whispers as his watering eyes snaps to yours.

“Did you mean all of that?” your voice is shaky and low.

You don’t have to specify what you are talking about for him to respond, “Every word, my love. I love you. There’s no one else more important than you in my life.” He tries to keep his voice steady and stares deeply into your eyes for your reassurance, as he drags your hand to his chest where you can feel his hammering heart.

A small smile threatens to twist up your lips, before they form a frown and you sound unsure, “But, before…”

“I was the stupidest man alive before.” He’s fast to respond, “I’ll never forgive myself and I don’t expect any differently from you. But I’m sure of what I’m feeling now. I love you. You’re my number one priority. Please, let me prove myself to you,” he begs and the sincerity in his words is enough to melt you inside.

“I love you, too.” His whole face light up and it’s the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen, “You’re the love of my life, I don’t want to fight it any longer. I’m so tired of fighting against what I’m feeling…” You fill up your lungs before you lose your breath completely and his hold on your hand grows tighter. “But I’m scared, Steve,” you admit, “Aren’t you scared, too?”

“Not anymore,” he says resolutely, wearing the devastatingly gorgeous wide grin you love so much.

“Why?” you whisper.

“Because you’re here and you’re real. I’m real, too, baby. I’m yours, I’m not going anywhere.” He repeats his words from that night when he first confessed his love for you, a night that feels so distant and so close at the same time. A night you were never able to kick out of your mind, nor your heart, despite all the effort you’ve put on trying.

You contemplate the expression of pure love and devotion highlighting his face, letting it fill up your chest with hope, before your eyes drop to his uniform. Your gaze lingers there for a second and all the doubts tormenting your heart come to an end, at last. “You’re really here with me, aren’t you?” You clutch the blue fabric covering his chest.

“I am, my love. Always. And I don’t think this old man can wait another minute longer without kissing you.”

You smile a watery smile to each other before you lock your lips with his. He pours on the kiss all the love he’s been waiting too long to give you and you receive it welcomingly, feeling it running down your veins, your very being.

His hand is on your back pulling tight against him when breaks the kiss, but doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours, “I thought you were happy,” he mutters, “I should’ve fought for you.” Deep regret laces his words. 

“Shhh,” you run a hand through the locks on the back of his head, “I thought I was happy, too. Until I wasn’t.” You tighten your lips against each other, “But it doesn’t matter anymore. We’re here, now.” You love that his smile is back on his face. Not willing to waste any more kisses, you bring your lips to his one more time. 

You’re finally complete. You’re finally in peace. Despite all you’ve been through, despite all the time which at a first glance seemed wasted and lost, you feel like your whole life has been made of pieces of a puzzle which has led you to this very moment, to this very kiss.

It doesn’t feel like it’s been too long, anymore. And you wouldn’t change a damn thing.


	3. Chapter 3

A mess of hair tickles his nose and Steve nudges further into it, lips curling up when he takes in the comfortable scent of your shampoo, even if his senses aren’t still fully alert. He registers your body pressed back against his bare chest, your forms molding to one another, his arm snug around your waist, holding you to him.

He unhurriedly opens his eyes, squinting from sleepiness, noticing the strays of sun peeking through the curtains, tiny little whimpers reaching his ears. He frowns and heightens his senses to listen carefully as he lifts his head from the pillow to have a better look of your profiles. Your lips are slightly parted and your breath is hitching by the second, then your body trembles softly against his and a strangled sound, something between a gasp and a moan leaves your lips.

Steve’s frown is replaced by a knowing smirk, as he drops his head the pillow again. Damn him if after more than a year together he wouldn’t know every single reaction of your body, every single sound coming out of your lips. He would be worried sick about you if he wasn’t absolutely sure this response isn’t one of distress, but quite the opposite, actually. 

He can’t see your face now, but he knows you’re awake. He feels the rise and fall of your chest, gradually calming down. You try to slip out of his hold and get up. But he’s having none of this.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks in raspy sleepy voice, brushing his nose against the strands of your hair.

You tilt your head to try and look at him, but he nuzzles further against your neck, “I thought you were sleeping.” You whisper, somewhat breathless.

He chuckles, his boxers growing tight at the wrecked sound of your voice, “I was…” he let his hand roam down your swelling belly, stroking it softly and worshipfully, before reaching the hem of your top, letting his fingers sneak beneath the fabric, “But some interesting sounds woke me up.” He deepens his hand under your top and skim it up to find one of your breasts.

This earns him a soft moan from you, urging him to continue the teasing, “Tell me, beautiful, were you having one of those dreams again?” He squeezes and caresses the soft flash, feeling the hardening peak against his touch.

“Uh-huh, you were the star of it.”

He laughs, hearing the trouble in your purring voice. As the pregnancy advanced you started getting insatiable, which is a perfect match to his unyielding desire for you.

“Humm, was I now?” His hand leaves your breast to make its way down again, pausing right above your underwear, “I wonder if this dream made my naughty girl wet…”

He got his answer when you placed your hand on his, guiding it to beneath the cotton of your panties and leading him to feel the hot dampness between your folds, the touch making you both moan in unison.

“Tell me,” he’s surprised by the groaning sound coming out of his own lips.

“We were in the flower shop,” you promptly obey his command, retracting your hand away from your panties, leaving his there, ghosting your nails over the length of his arm and reaching behind your shoulder to dig your fingers into his hair, “You were wearing the stealth suit-ah,” Your breath hitches as he lightly circles your clit.

“Oh, the stealth suit, huh? Of course…” He nibbles at your earlobe, adding a bit more of pressure on the circling movements against your hard, soaked nub. Loving how you squirm against his chest, he skims his other hand underneath you, grasping your breast through your top, making you yelp in an adorable and sexy way, “Tell me more, sweetheart.”

“You-you dropped to your knees behind the balcony, dipped your head beneath my skirt, I was wearing no underwear-”

“Fuck”, he breathes while you pause to catch some air when he drags his middle finger to your cunt, without leaving your clit neglected, using his thumb to stroke it, while the other hand feels the texture of your breast, noticing and adoring they’ve been getting bigger and softer as the time went by.

“Oh, Steve…”

“Keep telling me baby, you’re making me so damn hard,” He whispers against your ear and grinds his painful erection, trapped by his boxers, against your ass, urging a sob out of you.

“You ate me out, baby. You licked me so good, I had to hold myself on the balcony, praying for no one to come in. But I couldn’t make you stop, you know how much I love that tongue of yours. You fucked me with it until I came all over your mouth,” You grind your hips against his hand and grip his hair, pulling him harder against the spot of your neck he’s been ravishing. 

A guttural sound rumbles in his chest. He sucks on the soft sensitive skin above your shoulder, never ceasing his caress, on your pussy and your chest, filling the room with wet sounds and whimpering breaths. He’s pretty sure his love and craving lust for you will combust at any moment. He’s a sucker for this intimate moments together. Only you know him like this, wrecked, whispering dirty things in your ear, being on a mission to make you feel good, to give you pleasure, to satisfy all your desires, pleasuring himself out of it.

“Damn, babe, I love your filthy mind and sweet pussy. After I make you come with my fingers, I’m gonna fuck you so good. Do you want me to fuck you, my love?” The agony in his groin is almost overbearing and you nodding repeatedly and hooking your leg back around his thigh makes him twitch, begging for some kind of relief.

He angles his hand to rub his palm against your clit and, once again, he feels the quivering of your body. One of the greatest treasures in his life is to see you and feel you come, especially when he’s the one driving you there. He loves seeing you meeting climax, how your breathing seems to stop altogether and a silent cry gets stuck in your throat. Your leg drops, squeezing his hand between your thighs as you rock your hips and pull his locks, while he gives desperate open kisses all over your neck.

When your breathing seems to go back to a regulated pace, he slowly frees his hand out of your panties and the warm cage of your thighs, making your legs jiggle in response to the lost touch.

The hand you’ve been using to hold on his hair flies to form a grip on the sheets when he drags the fabric of your panties to the side. As he pulls down his own underwear, just enough to expose his neglected rock hard cock, you tip your face to look at him, “Fuck me, baby, real good, just like you promised.”

Barely believing how lucky he is to have you in his bed, in his life, he presses his chest tighter against your back and ducks his head to bring his mouth to your neck again,sucking the skin and tracing a path to your cheek, connecting your bodies impossibly closer.

A slight turn of your head allows him to capture your lips. The kiss is as messy and sloppy as possible due the position and the desperate need for eachother. You moan through his lips, setting his heart on fire. He can’t wait another second and, as he savors your taste, he uses his hand to lift your leg up a bit and then guide himself to enter you from behind. He breaks the kiss with a gasp, finding no resistance to bury balls deep inside your dripping and warm cunt.

Producing a strangled sound, you turn to bite your pillow as he scoops a hand around your leg, keeping it up, and engages in lazy, deliberate strokes.

The sensation of your pussy around his cock is nearly overwhelming and he uses all his stamina to stave off his own climax. He’s desperate for his own release, but he needs to see you like this, once again at his mercy. Right now, at this very moment, he needs it like he needs his own air, so his every move, every thrust of his hips is calculated to take you there again, knowing he’ll be following you. There’s nothing more capable of trigging his orgasm than watching you, the woman he adores, the woman he waited so long to be with, falling apart for him.

“More, babe, please…” you mumble against your pillow.

He knows nothing but to make all your wishes come true. He picks up his pace and shoves his dick deeper inside you, forcing incoherent little sounds from your lips. He groans against your ear, dipping his tongue into it and making you squirm, whispering how good you feel around him, how beautiful you look when he’s fucking your pussy, how much he loves you. Every inch of you. 

God, he loves you, he wants you, needs you. Coils of pleasure tighten his core and an urgent yearning takes his heart and mind. “You’re so beautiful, babe. Wanna see you. All of you. Wanna watch you ride my cock, will you do that for me?” he whispers and licks a stripe of salty sweat along the curve of your neck, before pulling out of you, hating having to part from you, and laying on his back.

He gives long, harsh strokes against his throbbing cock, as he watches with adoration your rush to get rid of your panties, sliding it down your legs and tossing them to the side, before sitting upright. You turn to him and kneel on the bed, straddling his hips, seeming to be missing him inside you as much as misses your heat. You swat his hand off of him and take his cock between your fingers, aligning it to yourself before sliding down his length.

A loud moan rolls off his lips, but he fights to keep his eyes open to fulfill his need to watch how magnificent you look fucking yourself on his cock, dropping your head back and breathing heavy, gripping his thighs behind you as you move your hips up and down.

He needs more, he needs every inch of you, so he tugs on the hem of your top, the last piece of fabric covering your body, lifting it as much as he could before you help him taking it off of you, dropping to the floor.

His jaw clenches as he takes you in, your bouncing breasts following the increasing rhythm of your hips. He can’t resist but bringing his hands to gently massage the two fleshy soft mounds as you dig your fingers into your hair. His brain short circuits as he admires your parted, whimpering lips, your eyes squinting in deep pleasure… a flip of his heart joins the coils of pleasure in his middle when he glimpses your growing belly. He didn’t think he could be more in love with you than he already was but you had to go and prove him wrong almost five months ago.

“You’re stunning.” He manages to say between his ragged breathing, letting go of your breasts and roaming his hands down your sides as your eyes snap open to him.

You smile through your daze and lean down, running your hands over his searing chest, never cesing the rocking movement of your hips, rolling them and rubbing your clit against the little hairs on his pubic bone. Your jaw drops and your brows furrow as you moan his name like a prayer.

“Yeah, just like that, babe.” Steve grips on your thighs, pulling you to grind harder against him as he thrusts up deep and fast, angling the jerks of his pelvis just the way he knows will allow him to hit your sweet spot, driving you crazy and making him lose his mind just as much.

“Fuck,” you pant, “You- You’re gonna make me come again.”

This motivates Steve to pick up his pace and grip your thighs harder, aware how much you love when you he touches you like this. “I know, babe, let it go. I’m right there with you. You feel so good, God.” You’re there, you’re almost there, he can feel it in the tenseness of your body, the twisting pleasure on your features, his twitching cock can feel it in the clenches of your soaking cunt, just a little bit more and…

You scream your release, digging your nails on his chest, enticing a hiss which transforms in repeated groaning sounds out of him as he lets himself go, spilling strong spurs inside you, having holding back for too long now. His grasp on your legs grows even tighter and obscene sounds slip out of both of you. His vision blurs your hips still grind against one another, dragging the shared pleasure for as long as you could.

He winces when you move up, letting him slide out of you, and carefully laying down next to him, the fight for air turning into the only sounds filling the room, none of you giving a damn about the mess of your love making over the sheets or yourselves.

“Wow,” you breathe “And I thought the dream would be the highlight of my morning.” You place your hand over your forehead.

Steve chuckles and rolls to his side, nuzzling against the side of your neck, inhaling the scent of both of you on your skin as he circles an arm around your waist, pulling you closer . “Glad to know I can be of service in the flesh, too.”

You give him a small giggle, unaware of the turmoil you cause inside his chest when you do this, before turning over to your side to face him, his arm never leaving your waist on the process.

“Good morning, my filthy groom,” You rest your cheek over your hand, as you place the other over your belly.

Steve smirks, staring deeply into your playful gaze, “Good morning, my naughty bride,”

The smile seems to stuck on your lips when you lean forward, giving him a loving and gentle kiss. You take the hand around your waist to place it over your belly before parting from his lips, not without him seeking for you once again to place another short peck on your mouth, making you grin as your fingers intertwined over your stomach, “Captain America knocking up a divorced woman before marrying her… What a scandal, huh?” 

“Hey, in my defense I proposed first,” He gasps in faked outrage before untangling from your hold and attacking your sides with light tickles.

You squirm, grabbing his hand to make him stop, “Steve,” you squeak, tightening the grip on his hand, “We agreed this is off the table while I’m carrying your daughter.” You barely can hold back your laugh, placing his hand back on your belly, letting yours resting above it. 

“I know, I know,” He kisses your lips, laughing when you huff, “I’m sorry, couldn’t resist.” He gently roams his hand around the bump.

You hum, side eyeing him, before sealing the peace with a small peck, “We better get up and freshen up, I give us twenty minutes before Tony storms into the door, screaming at us for still being in bed, when we have only 9 hours until the ceremony.”

Steve rolls his eyes, absentmindedly caressing your tummy, “I blame you for indulging his dreams of being a damn wedding planner.”

You laugh, shaking your head, before becoming serious and focusing on his eyes, making his heart almost leap outside of him with the intensity of your gaze.

“Are you ready for forever, Steve Rogers?”

He takes in a deep sigh, hoping he can put all the love he holds for you, for the family you’re forming together into his answer, “I am, if my forever is you.” He strokes your stomach, “If it’s us.”

The hammering of his heart is loud and clear while you keep staring at him with an unreadable expression on your face. He breathes again when the corners of your lips curl up.

Your eyes are watering when you bring his hand from over your belly to your lips, kissing his palm before placing it to cup your cheek, “I love you, Steve. You’re my forever.”

Tears of his own spill on both your lips as he kisses you in response. Right then, he decides this is a perfect way to start the happiest day of his life.


End file.
